


Secret Identities

by cocoacremeandgays



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alpha Dave is Referred to as David, Alternate Universe - No Sburb/Sgrub Sessions, Closeted Transgender, Closeted Transsexual, Depression, Dirk and Dave are Thirteen, Dirk and Dave are Twins, Female Homosexuality, Gen, Gender Confusion, Gender Dysphoria, Male Homosexuality, Male to Female Transsexual Character, Sexuality Confusion, Suicidal Thoughts, cross dressing, pov switching, transgender character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-02-24
Packaged: 2018-05-16 01:58:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5809108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cocoacremeandgays/pseuds/cocoacremeandgays
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Panic floods through you when you hear the 'click' of the door opening, your heart racing at seemingly a million miles a minute, because you know for sure that whoever it is is going to think you are absolutely insane for what you're doing right now. Who in their right mind does this, anyway? This is mental. Mental! Absolutely, positively mental.</p><p>And you almost missed the sound of a small juice box hitting the floor with a quiet 'thud' over the sound of your brother's confused, "What."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Your name is Dirk, and...

**Author's Note:**

> Before you read the first chapter in this story, I want to just say- this will probably be really bad. And by really bad, I mean *really* **bad**. Like terrible writing and plot and- Ahhh onto the story. e_e  
> Make sure to leave your opinion- constructive criticism is always extremely welcome-  
> Kay now onto the story.

You know for a fact that something is not right in your head.

Standing in front of a mirror and chastising your looks because it doesn't fucking match with what you should be definitely gives off the impression that something is not right in that little head of yours.

You hate how much you feel that you should have breasts, but instead you have nothing there. Nothing that you want, anyway. You despise the _piece_ between your legs that isn't even right and makes no fucking sense to you because what even should you do with it, let it stay when it's obviously on the wrong body? And as much as you hate to admit it, that small curve in your sides, just before your hips, at your waist, because you're so fucking thin, is the only thing that makes you happy about yourself.  And the orange irises in your eyes are pretty, a golden butterscotch hue of perfection- if you widen your eyes to just the right point, you almost look feminine enough for your face to pass as ladylike.

Almost.

Your jawline is sharp and square- not soft and gently rounded like you want- no, _believe_ should be there. Your cheek bones are a bit prominent, giving you a selectively more male look. Your eyes are naturally squinted, meaning even your eyes can't savor you the hope of looking feminine.

You're stick thin, straight up and down, and your figure is definitely more male than you think should be possible. The only curves you have in your body are your muscles- which are barely prominent, but there- and the gentle rise and fall of your ribs that you can see if you suck in your breath. And of course you can see your hipbones, ever so gently protruding from your sides, but not too prominent. They're just barely there, and you can only see them if you really focus on that area- which, of course, you never do.

Your hair is okay. It's soft, which is always a plus, and it's pretty long when it's not slightly gelled up into what your brother likes to call, "Mountains of hair and hair gel, only to be scaled by the bravest of all warriors to kill the dragon of Zoloft with the sword of ginger bread men" (of course, you always tell him that they aren't mountains, it's just a trick to keep your hair up and out of the way, and Zoloft is an antidepressant, not a dragon, but he doesn't listen and just keeps calling them "Mountains of hair and hair gel, occupied by the dragon of Zoloft").

Speaking of your hair, you think it's about time you wash the gel out and just let your hair fall however the fuck it wants.

Maybe you can style it, and make it look feminine. Maybe if you try hard enough, you'll be able to at least look like a girl to others.

Stripping from your boxers and socks, you proceed to neatly fold them and place them in the corner of the bathroom, before pulling the little knob to turn on the shower and twisting it a few degrees to the left. You check the water's temperature with your hand, pursing your lips as you try to determine whether or not it's a good temperature. You pull your hand from the spray, flicking it a few times to get your hand at least relatively dry, and then twist the knob a few extra degrees to the left. You test the water again, and this time you deem it safe enough to enter without either freezing to death, or burning to death.

You toss a towel over the rod that holds the shower curtain and get into the shower, sighing in slight relief at the warmth the water coming from the shower head gives you. It melts your tense barrier like it's nothing more than butter in a microwave, set to thirty seconds on high. It relaxes your tense muscles, relieving pressure from your shoulders. Your arms and legs feel fucking great, and there's a gentle tingle at the base of your head, and it's travelling down the nape of your neck at just about the same speed the water travels down your body. 

Your _male_  body.

That ruins the perfect feeling you wanted to be sinking in, and you run your hands through your hair as you tilt your head back. The stream hits your hair and scalp, and you slowly rinse out the gel that used to reside in your hair, to keep it up and out of the way. As the last of the gel rinses out, you take a minor fraction of pride in the fact that you know your hair falls down to your neck, and your bangs- if you leave them how they'd like to go- fall into your eyes. You know that it doesn't make you look any more feminine than you physically are, but it makes you feel a little better about the fact that nothing about your body feels okay.

You pick up the body wash and loofah from next to the shower, and get to work on washing your body. You always feel the need to shut your eyes at this part, because you hate looking at yourself when you're naked and you can physically see everything wrong with you.

Your body is straight up and down, a pathway that you actually wish would curve like an hour glass. Your chest is flat instead of curved, the lack of breasts only a minor upsetting feature. Some girls have flat chests. Maybe you can be one of those girls. You scrub harder at your body.

Maybe if you scrub hard enough you'll shed your masculinity and reveal what's inside. A girl.

You step out of the shower and shut off the water, pulling the towel off of the shower curtain rod. You towel yourself off, before wrapping the towel around you, tucking in the corner so it stays without your holding it. You choose not to acknowledge the fact that the towel isn't wrapped around your hips, it's wrapped up around your chest, and falls just barely past your thighs- like a girl would wrap her towel.

You open the medicine cabinet and pull out the heat protector spray you use for your hair before you blow dry it, or straighten it. You generally have no need to straighten your hair- it's normally straight enough without any help. You spritz the heat protector spray into your hair, and then run your fingers through the wet and blonde mess atop your head to separate the clumps that have stuck together because of the moisture and spray.

Picking up the blow dryer from the side of the sink, you turn it on to the second setting- "warm"- and direct the air flow to your wet hair, ignoring the feeling of suffocation when some of the air blows straight into your face. 

When you're done, you stare at yourself in the mirror and try to figure out how the hell you managed to make your hair look so much like a soft, blonde Persian cat perched upon your head. And not a cute Persian cat, either. A rather ugly one. Deciding that brushing through your hair is the only way to tame the beast, you pull your brush out of the brush bin.

The brush bin is a small shoe box that holds everyone's brushes. You think this is a positively stupid idea, because if one of the four of you manage to get lice, and then that one out of four of you brushes your hair, and then that one out of four of you puts it back in the bin, that one out of four of you has just spread lice throughout the entire household. You have voiced your concerns about this on more than one occasion, and while David actually takes this into consideration, Bro waves off your concerns and says, "That's crazy. Won't happen, kid."

With your hair now dry and thoroughly brushed, you find that getting dressed is a blur. One moment, you're adjusting your hair, the next, you're wearing a sun dress over women's underwear. Your hair is parted at the right side, and though it's short and sticks up a little, it still looks nice. You widen your eyes to that perfect amount, and you remind yourself of an innocent deer.

You suck in your breath, and pull the dress tight around your waist. The action makes it look like you have curves- the curves you've wanted since you started puberty. The curves you were sure that you would somehow get, even if that was absolutely mental.

Oh, God, you must be mental. You're dressed in girl clothes, praying to God that you'll wake up one day and either feel right, or wake up and physically be the girl you were supposed to be when you were born.

You're lying to yourself and everyone around you when you act like a boy. You're lying to yourself and everyone around you when you're dressed in the clothes specifically for your sex. Male. A boy. A man. And you're lying to yourself when you try and convince yourself that you'd rather wear pants and a shirt from the boy's section, than slip on a dress and tights as if dressing for an occasion like graduation, or a birthday.

You're suddenly extremely tempted to cut off your-

Panic floods through you when you hear the 'click' of the door opening, your heart racing at seemingly a million miles a minute, because you know for sure that whoever it is is going to think you are absolutely insane for what you're doing right now. Who in their right mind does this, anyway? This is mental. Mental! Absolutely, positively mental.

And you almost missed the sound of a small juice box hitting the floor with a quiet 'thud' over the sound of your brother's confused, "What."

The silence is almost unbearable, and after a few seconds, you let go of the fabric that you were holding around your waist to make it look like you had curves. Your brother, Dave, is standing in the doorway, a small, rectangular juice box on the floor at his feet. It's still got juice in it, and it's instantly clear that it's apple juice- the golden-orange liquid is seeping from the straw, dripping and making a little puddle.

"Did I, uh," Dave's expression twitches from confusion to slight amusement for a split second, "interrupt something? Or..."

"Yes. Yes you did interrupt something, and this something is absolutely nothing. You will stay quiet and act like this _never_ happened." You reply quickly. "Got it?"

"Whoa, okay, shit, something _is_ going on here." Dave is grinning now. And he said nothing could excuse the cool and collected poker face he always has. He bends over and picks the juice box up from the floor, and he looks like a little kid who just came back from Disneyland, and he's going to tell you all about it. "I got questions that need answers, man." A hit to your self esteem from his comment makes you flinch as if you were in pain. Hell, it did hurt. You have no idea why, but it just... It hurt. You decide to ignore it.

"Why are you bringing a juice box to the bathroom?" You point out, narrowing your eyes accusingly.

"You're avoiding the question." 

"Last time I checked, there was no question to avoid." Dave scoffs.

"Says the one wearing a dress in the middle of winter," You see Dave's covered eyes look you over like you're some really hot girl. You're not sure if you feel disturbed or happy. "I mean, really-"

"It's hot and you know it." You interrupt.

"What, the dress or the temp, because last I checked, a high of sixty five ain't exactly hot." Dave wasn't even asking. That was a statement, meant to seem like a question. And because you realize this, you remain silent, and so does he. He's taking in your attire, most likely. He's confused, you can tell. He takes a long sip of his juice box, and you decide now is the best time to speak.

"I'm a girl." Dave sputters and chokes on his apple juice, lifting a hand to his mouth to keep himself from spraying juice everywhere. He swallows and then begins coughing. Ha. Serves him right.

"You're a  _what now_?" Dave chokes out, rubbing his throat.

"I-I'm a girl." You repeat, though you've lost the amount of confidence that you had the first time you said it.

And then the silence is back, and you don't know if you should keep staring at Dave, or if you should look away and fix your hair up like it normally is when you're tricking yourself and everyone around you. You don't know if you should call this a joke or remain silent, because as much as you know that this is true, you're not sure if you want it to be. Admitting it out loud for the first time not only in front of yourself, but in front of Dave, makes you feel like you just spouted this huge secret that is half true, and half not, because you've been lying your whole life... Because you've been lying your whole life, you don't know if you remember clearly what it feels like to tell the truth.

There's a gentle thump that comes from Dave, and you don't even have to look to know that Dave dropped his juice box on the floor again. But, of course, you look over anyway, and the first thing that you see is the fact that he's holding his arms open, as if waiting for you to hug him.

"Alright, alright, now you're gonna come over here, and hug me, and it's going to be the best sibling hug either of us have ever shared in the history of ever." Dave says, gesturing to himself before holding his arms out to you again.

You take the few steps foreword, and wrap your arms around Dave, who wraps his around you in return.

You're not sure if you feel relieved or frightened, because you know Dave can't keep a damn secret for the life of him.

 


	2. Your name is Dave, and...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dave only wanted to take a piss.  
> ... No, not in his apple juice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did it.  
> I fought my way through writer's block, and managed to complete the second chapter. This is my first second chapter of a story on AO3.  
> It's pretty bad, but, y'know.  
> I tried.  
> ALSO! For that weird interlude part, I want to credit my friend. A majority of that was from their mind, and we decided "y'know what, fuck it", and we put it in, because it was freaking hilarious. XD  
> Enjoy.

All you wanted to do was take a piss.

And no, not in your apple juice. Preferably far from your apple juice, considering no one knows how the hell particles work (at least, you don't), and hell if you wanna accidentally somehow get piss particles in your apple juice. You suddenly really hope that no one pissed near your apple juice when it was being made in whatever factory apple juice is made in.

Anyway, the point is, all you wanted (or needed) to do, was take a piss. But low and behold, you can't even do that without something else coming in the way and fucking it up... Well, okay, not technically fucking it up, but just getting in the way.

Well, okay, not technically getting in the way, but-

No, no it's actually quite literally in the way. Dirk is literally in the way (Goddamn it, Dirk) of the fucking toilet, where you plan to relieve yourself sooner rather than later, considering you've been holding it since you fell asleep last night, and it's noon now, and _damn is this apple juice really not helping._

You had initially opened your mouth to voice a quick, "Yo Dirk, I gotta piss, get outta the way," but as we all know, nothing ever goes according to plan in the Strider household, and instead only a confused "What," escaped your lips, along with you dropping your juice box straight down onto the floor of the bathroom, simply because Dirk had decided that today, at right this hour, right this minute, and right this second, he was going to check himself out in the mirror which resided in the only bathroom in the entire damn apartment the four of you shared.

Okay, and the fact that Dirk was dressed like a girl, but, you know, it's probably ironic. Even so, you decide to be an ass and try to tease him about it. "Did I, uh." You will admit that you smiled for a split second, but it was definitely okay because it was only for a split second. Dirk probably didn't catch it, so you're safe. "Interrupt something? Or..."

Quick to reply, Dirk butts in just as you finish your sentence and trail off into hypothetical dots- like if this was being recorded in a story, but how cliche is that? Pft. So cliche-. "Yes. Yes you did interrupt something, and this something is absolutely nothing. You will stay quiet and act like this _never_ happened. Got it?" Oh hot damn, Dirk is so obviously hiding something. Well, tonight just got a shit ton more amusing.

Lets tease him some more.

"Whoa, okay, shit, something _is_ going on here."  You are so not grinning, it's definitely not happening. You scoop up the juice box that you managed to drop just a minute or so before, and look back up to Dirk. "I got questions that need answers, man." And you're only slightly surprised when Dirk flinches. Okay, a lot slightly. As in, like, 95% of you is completely, 100% surprised. Okay, so 95% of you is 95% surprised. What the fuck ever.

Dirk counters with a question. "Why are you bringing a juice box to the bathroom?"  He narrows his eyes. You inwardly scoff- wow, rude. 

"You're avoiding the question." You answer, choosing to avoid explaining your nonexistent answer to that question.

"Last time I checked, there was no question to avoid." Dirk and his fucking technicalities. This time you scoff outwardly. Payback time.

"Says the one wearing a dress in the middle of winter," you scan Dirk with your eyes, slowly enough so he can see, to prove your point further. It's weird seeing your brother in a dress. "I mean, really-"

"It's hot, and you know it." Dirk interrupts. What.

"What, the dress or the temp, because last I checked, a high of sixty five ain't exactly hot." Just for the hell of it, you look over Dirk again. It is so weird seeing your brother in a dress. In girl's clothes. You don't know where the fuck he got it, but it's still really weird.

But... he can do whatever he wants to, you guess?

You take a sip from your apple juice. Mmm... Oh shit you gotta piss, right.

"I'm a girl." Okay, what the fuck.

What the actual, legit fuck.

This gives you a damn reason to fucking sputter out your apple juice like it's some sort of shit-nasty liquid instead of a cold, delicious golden beverage. Your hand moves in front of your mouth on instinct, probably to at least try and keep it in the general vicinity of where it should be.

You swallow what's left in your mouth, and _ohmyholyfuckwrongwaygoddamnitapplejuice-_ you begin to cough. You hate it when shit goes down the wrong way. "You're a _what now_?" You croak, rubbing your throat to sooth the sting. Ugh, now you have to deal with that dumb aftertaste that you get when you choke on apple juice.

"I-I'm a girl." It's obvious that he's lost hella amounts of confidence, considering he says it quieter and even chances a quick glance towards his feet at the end of the sentence. He looks nervous, and shaky, and his eyes slowly trail over to the mirror. He looks at himself, and the corners of his mouth turn gently downwards, as if the edgings of a little frown were beginning to bloom across his face. This thought makes you a bit unhappy, because seeing your brother upset like this is just...

It's just not him.

Or... her...?

Shitting hell. You're not an idiot, you know what a transgender is, and you've even done extensive research on it because of some still currently unresolved personal issues- and you think you can safely say that you did not expect Dirk Motherfucking Strider, your brother of all people, to be a male to female transgender individual. He seemed so... so... _masculine_. Sure, he was gay as all living hell, but if you looked at him (in his every day clothes, not a dress), you'd never know he was experiencing any type of dysphoria or was anything less than heterosexual at all.

Dirk isn't flamboyant, of course- in fact, he's pretty damn reserved-, but he's still got more of a masculine personality. He never showed any signs of being transgender, as far as you know, but maybe he's just really good at hiding.

You open your arms out beside you, as if awaiting a hug (which you are), and accidentally drop your juice box in the not-so-complicated process of doing so.

"Alright, alright," you begin, "now you're going to come over here and hug me, and it's going to be the best sibling hug either of us have ever shared in the history of ever." You make sure to avoid the term 'bro hug', considering he's obviously not feeling like he's a boy if he says he's a girl. You deliver a brief gesture towards yourself and hold your arms open again.

You push back the urge to tell him your body is ready.

Dirk's face lights up in a manner that he probably doesn't even notice, and he steps foreword. You both share the best bro- er... sibling hug in the history of ever. The only thing that could come to your mind was the fact that he hugs like a girl _(oh, and that dress is soft)._

The hug lasts a few minutes, until your pressing bladder reminds you, "hey, you gotta piss", and you need to let go.

"Okay, now I'm gonna take the most magnificent piss known to man, and then we're going to have a talk 'bout this, because I have questions that need answering sooner rather than later. I'd rather not fuck it up somehow. Y'know?" Dirk furrows his brows and presses his lips together gently. He grabs his shades off of the bathroom counter, and nods your way.

A small acknowledging thing that's gestured towards-

_Oh fuck no your bladder isn't having any of your shit lets go._

**> DAVE: Be Guardian A.**

You are now-

Oh.

_Oh no._

You don't like the looks of you.

You look scary. Let's not be you.

**> GUARDIAN A: Stop whining and just be you already.**

How about _no._

**> Fucking- fine. DAVE: Be Guardian B.**

Okay, you're less scary, lets go with you.

Your name is David. You don't know what that whole monologue-like thing was, and you're pretty sure you're only you. You're just as you were twenty three years ago, except now you're a bit older and less happy because you have a child. You have a child, damn it. In fact, you have two childs (yes, plural rather than singular).

_You have two fucking children._

**> Yeah, no, you're boring. Lets go back to Guardian A.**

Your name is Guardian-

Fuck, wait, hold on.

Your name is Derrick Strider, and you're probably the coolest dude you know. You've raised two kids with the help of your husband, David, and have only managed to mess up on minor occasions, when it really didn't matter anyway.

Like accidentally squishing Dave's face when he was only a year or so old and needing to talk to that Egbert kid's dad to figure out how to get Dave to quit crying already, because David was away in Hollywood with his phone off, and Dadbert was the next best thing.

Or the time when-

**> Be Dave. Be Dave. _Be Dave. Be Dave before your husband yells at you._**

After you have managed to empty your bladder in the short amount of time that majestic interlude took place, you exit the bathroom and flop down onto the bed in your and Dirk's room, where Dirk is now sitting. He's probably been sitting here since he left the bathroom, and he looks ever so slightly distraught. You have an itching feeling that it might be because of the whole "transgender" thing.

"So..." You trail off, managing to catch his attention. It's now that you notice that he's not in that dress anymore- he's now back into the clothes he wears on a normal day to day basis. It's a white tee shirt, with an orange hat decal that is reminiscent of Bro's hat. His pants are plain black jeans, and Dirk is wearing black socks, as well. Seamless, as always: he can't handle the seams in socks. He says that they hurt, or something.

"So?" Dirk's left eyebrow quirks upwards in a quick movement.

"How long have you known?" You ask, referring to the whole transgender thing again. Dirk is silent, and his shrug is probably one of the most half-assed things you've seen since you were six and you half-assed a dumb cat drawing for your kindergarten teacher. That thing was so half-assed, it physically hurt.

"Dunno," answered Dirk, lifting up a hand and rubbing his nose for a second, "since I was... six, at least."

"So, you've known for a pretty long time, I reckon." You roll onto your side, staring up at Dirk's face. His lips twitch downwards, much like they had before, in the bathroom.

"You reckon correct."

Dirk sounds pained, but still relatively nonchalant about the entire ordeal. You have no idea what's going on in his head, but you know it's probably pretty complicated. You have no idea how his head worked before he "came out" to you as transgender. But now? You're about as lost as a puppy who's owner abandoned him in some shopping mall while blindfolded. You have no idea how to navigate the deep recesses of what is your brother's mind in this analogy.

Each and every thought and memory seems carefully thought through and organized, and stocked on the shelves like a product being sold for the first time. Quickly and yet gingerly sorted and explained through a small synopsis on the back, like a book. Maybe that's why he's so good at memorizing things: his mind is just one giant storage unit of information that might never run out.

"...You want me to use lady stuff for you then?" You ask. This gets Dirk's attention, and his head snaps to the side, facing you. "I mean, like, she and her, rather than he and his and him?"

"No." This takes you aback. No? But isn't he transgender? Isn't that what most people in his situation would like? Shit, you probably sound biased.

"What?" You ask, sitting up. You're staring at each other, eye to eye, through two pairs of shades. "Why not?"

"Because I don't know how Bro and David are going to take it. I don't want to be kicked out before I'm sixteen." He looks worried, a slightly frightened glint in his eyes that you catch even through two covers that are less than 50% transparent on a normal day. You guess you can't blame him, though. You know that this is a pretty big thing, that generally has some not-so-great consequences, especially when you're in a tightly knit household. But you're surrounded by homosexuality on a day to day basis, and you're pretty sure that Bro and David aren't gonna give two shits about his gender identity.

"Listen," You shift, seated comfortably next to him on the edge of his bed. You're both slouched over comfortably, looking at each other. You turn your gaze towards the wall in front of you. "We're legit surrounded by homosexuality, and they legit bet on your sexuality. Remember that? Bro and David bet on whether or not you'd be gay, and Bro won. Then we ordered pizza and watched sappy movies until three in the morning like a normal family does when their kid comes out as gay.

"My point is, I don't think they're gonna give two shits 'bout the fact that you're a bit more lady than you are man. They didn't care about your sexuality, why would they care about your gender identity?" You nudge Dirk in the side, glancing over. You smirk when you notice his realization face. You're getting somewhere. "And it's probably best to let them know sooner or later, y'know? Sooner preferably more so than later."

Dirk sighs, audibly, and responds, "Yeah, okay, you have a point." Your smirk turns into a grin, and your nudge him again.

"So... she and her, m'lady?" Dirk blushes, nudging you back, and from the way his expression softens, you think he likes that idea.

"Yeah. She and her."


End file.
